LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. 
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UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 



ELSIE 



AND OTHER POEMS 



BY 



ROBERT BEVERLY HALE 



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•>SEP B9 1893 



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BOSTON 

R. B. HALE & CO. 

3 HAMILTON PLACE 
1895 



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Copyright, 1893, 
By R. B. HALE 

All rights reserved. 



Press of J.J. Little & Co. 
Astor Place, New York 



TO 

MRS. A. D. W., 

FOR WHOSE 

SYMPATHETIC APPRECIATION 

NO ONE 

EVER HOPED IN VAIN, 

THIS BOOK IS DEDICATED. 



CONTENTS. 

PAGE 

Elsie, . . . . . . . • 9 

Solo and Symphony, . . . . . . II 

Two Sermons, ... ... 13 

Friendship, •...-. 17 

The Little Lame Boy at the Window, . . 23 

Truth, ■-•■". . . .25 

To My Little Girl, 26 

Sunrise, . . . . . . . . .28 

Elsie Abroad, 30 

A Birthday Present to an Old Friend, . . 31 

Mother's Love, ....... 32 

Two Visitors, . . . . . -33 



CONTENTS. 



Mary, . 

When Elsie Sings, 

" Be Ye therefore Perfect," 

My Sister Eleanor, 

To H. B. W., 

Music, . 

A Venetian Wallflower, 

To Her whom I Love, 

Mother, .... 

An Old Story, 

The Mirror of a Soul, 

Night, .... 

The Man who Hesitates is 

My Ambush, .-'■■. 

To One who Thinks she Lov 

Express and Accommodation 

To an Unnoticed Lady, 



Lost, 



es me Not, 



CONTENTS. 



Waiting, . 

Elsie and the Ocean, 

After the First Snow, 

A Resolution, 

Phillips Brooks, 

A Clerk in a Bank, 

My Fellow-Traveller, 

Elsie's Father, 

Sunset across the Ice, 

To Margaret, 

The Young Mother, 



PAGE 
70 

72 

73 
76 

77 

79 
81 

83 
88 

9 1 
92 

95 



A Plain Working Man's Idea of Heaven, 



ELSIE. 

There she goes beneath the trees 
In her wide-brimmed summer hat 

And the butterflies and bees 

Wonder what she's laughing at. 

On her dress the sun and shade 
Play at restless hide and seek, 

And the blushes glow and fade 
On her tempting little cheek. 

Listen ! Who was that she heard 
Calling from across the lawn ? 

Off she nutters like a bird : 
In an instant she is sfone. 



10 ELSIE AND OTHER POEMS. 

O'er my sense she's cast a spell. 

Like a prisoner I seem, 
In some gloomy dungeon cell, 

When he sees a stray sunbeam 

Through the grating make its way, 

Play about upon the wall, 
Disappear. Like him I say : 



Yes, God is good after all ! 



SOLO AND SYMPHONY. 

The hall is hushed. Beneath his skilful fin- 
gers 
The violoncello trembles — makes a pause ; 
The tune grows boisterous — softens — barely 
lingers, 
Then dies away in torrents of applause. 

He bows and smiles, and sinks into the 
chorus. 
His part is done — we think of him no 
more ; 
But as the glorious symphony steals o'er us 
We all forget what seemed so sweet be- 
fore. 



12 ELSIE AND OTHER POEMS. 

So I have stood before a world admiring, 

Doing great deeds as though they were of 
course ; 
Envy or love, wonder, at least, inspiring ; 

A dumb world marvelling at my tours de 
force ; 

And now once more I sink into the chorus. 

What matter if my solo be forgot ? 
This symphony forever sweeping o'er us 

Is grander far than solos, is it not ? 

Hark, how we play ! Let no man fail his fellow ! 

Never one jar of instruments at strife ! 
Nor one false note from my unheeded 'cello 

To mar the splendid symphony of life ! 



TWO SERMONS. 

While the minister is preaching 
(Very learned talk, no doubt), 

And the flock that he is teaching 
Wonder what it's all about, 

My strained senses slowly wander 
To the earth from things divine, 

To the little maiden yonder 

In the pew in front of mine. 

On her father's kindly shoulder 

Rests her head of gold-brown hair, 



14 ELSIE AND OTHER POEMS. 

And his loving fingers hold her 
Close, at peace, contented there. 

Now she leaves him for the present, 
Looking up with tired zest ; 

Then repents, and, oh, the pleasant 
Thrill of sinking back to rest \ 

Now a while at peace she lingers, 
After some soft reprimand, 

While her slender little fingers 

Clasp her father's great brown hand. 

Now her little hand unravels 

From her eyes a golden skein ; 

Then, grown tired of its travels, 
Finds its way to his again. 



ELSIE AND OTHER POEMS. 15 

Now she glances round, and rather 
Wonders what I'm staring at : 

Well, if she does love her father, 
What is there so strange in that ? 

Dear old pastor, stanch and firm on 
Doctrines sound as man can teach, 

Here's another kind of sermon, 
Better far than you can preach. 

Dear old soul, who lay such stress on 

Keeping sternly undefiled, 
When you feel you need a lesson, 

Take it from some little child. 

You were steadfastly beseeching 
Me to seek the narrow way ; 



1 6 ELSIE AND OTHER POEMS. 

But it wasn't all your preaching 
That has helped me so to-day, 

For a little girl was teaching 
All the things you didn't say. 



FRIENDSHIP. 



AUGUST. 



Knee-deep among wild carrots and long grass, 
Looking across the meadow at the woods, 
I stood, at peace ; for it was such a day, 
So sweet, that avarice and shame and fear 
Forsook my heart, and only love was left. 
And all the trees were strangely beautiful : 
Dark foliage hid the grim oak's twisted boughs, 
His robe of state — the stern old forest king ; 
The modest maple with compliant grace 
Waved her fresh leaves, obedient to the wind ; 
And not far off I saw the slim white birch, 
A sylph by day — by night she seems a ghost. 

2 



15 ELSIE AND OTHER POEMS. 

Only the evergreens were dull of hue : 
I scarcely should have known them but for that ; 
For they were neither graceful, bright, nor gay, 
But seemed like servants in a hall of state, 
Forgot amid the court's magnificence. 



NOVEMBER. 

The same ! No, no ! It cannot be the same ! 
This barren field, with brown, half-frozen turf ! 
Alas, how quickly beauty takes her flight ! 
One wave of those bright wings, and she is 

gone, 
And desolation grimly takes her place. 
See those poor trees — or are they ghosts of 

trees ? — 
Waving weird arms, and casting leaves abroad ; 



ELSIE AND OTHER POEMS. 1 9 

A few brown leaves, the wreck of summer time. 
Only the evergreens, in verdant robes, 
Shine out against the faded mass of brown. 
The stubborn pine-tree rears itself on high, 
Scorning the efforts of the foolish wind. 
The melancholy hemlock waves its plumes, 
And thrills all over with a sad unrest. 
Ah, now we know how beautiful they are ! 
With head erect and uniform of green, 
They seem like soldiers in a motley crowd. 



PROSPERITY. 

Once on a time, when Fortune smiled on me, 
I sat and thought on my prosperity. 
What have I done, to merit such reward? 
For I have riches more than I can use, 



20 ELSIE AND OTHER POEMS. 

And health, without which wealth were mockery, 
And more than all, I have a host of friends 
Who love me well, nor scorn to show their love 
By countless little acts and pleasant words, 
And kindly offerings of sweet courtesy. 
Only a few old friends, of sober looks, 
Make little protestation of regard ; 
I scarce should think upon them but for that ; 
For they are neither wise nor bright nor gay ; 
They seem like veterans of an army corps, 
Sure of themselves, but jealous of the rest. 



ADVERSITY. 

Adversity has come to dwell with me ; 
Adversity, the triumph of our foes ; 
Adversity, the touchstone of our friends. 



ELSIE AND OTHER POEMS. 21 

Deep have I sunk in unconcealed disgrace; 
Lost is my strength, my boasted health is 

fled; 
Riches have used their wings and flown away, 
And with them those I used to call my friends. 
What have I done to merit such reward ? 
How can I dare to trust in anything, 
When those who seemed so true have proved so 

false ? 
Only a few old friends have not forgot 
The days of old, when I was true to them, 
And now they take my part against the world. 
What do they care for danger or disgrace? 
They seem like veterans of an army corps : 
The raw recruits have left them to their fate ; 
But they have rallied round the flag they love, 
And woe betide the foe that ventures near ! 



22 ELSIE AND OTHER POEMS. 

O Friendship, dearest gift of God to man, 
We cannot know thee in prosperity ! 
Then welcome danger ! Blessed be disgrace ! 
For in the awful blackness that they bring, 
True friends shine out like stars in winter 

nights, 
And make the very darkness beautiful. 



THE LITTLE LAME BOY AT THE 
WINDOW. 

Here from my chair I see them go, 

The rich, the poor, the great, the small, 
Under my window : they don't know 

A little watchman sees them all. 
These two are looking : aren't they queer ? 

They — How do you do ? — I guess they say ; 
They wonder why I stay in here 
Instead of running out to play. 

My two big brothers and the rest 
Are playing there beyond the wall : 

My brother Jack can play the best ; 
You ought to see him curve the ball ! 



24 ELSIE AND OTHER POEMS. 

And when he makes a splendid play, 
And I can help them raise a cheer, 

My pains and troubles go away, 
And I forget what keeps me here. 

If I could just be well one day, 

And go out too, it would be fine. 
Well — I can see the others play, 

And take their fun instead of mine. 
I watch them here from up above ; 

You see it's almost just the same, 
I love them so ; and I can love 

As well as if I wasn't lame. 



TRUTH. 

There is no life's companion like the Truth. 
Bind it with close-forged fetters to thy side, 
And guard it like the apple of thine eye, 
Else it will flee away ; and men will say, 
" Aye, so he says, but we believe him not." 
Then wilt thou call for Truth to come again : 
" Ah, Truth, sweet Truth, I know thy worth at 

last ! 
Come back again ! " And then Truth will not 

come. 



TO MY LITTLE GIRL. 

Close to earth the sun is burning ; 

Weary ploughmen leave the plough ; 
Homeward through the fields returning, 

All their work is ended now. 
Hear the cattle gently lowing ; 

Hear the bleating of the sheep ; 



All the world to rest is going — 



Sleep, my little darling, sleep ! 

Fishermen upon the ocean 

Turn their eager bows toward home 
On they come, with rushing motion, 

Ploughing through the surging foam. 



ELSIE AND OTHER POEMS. ^ 

Hark, they sing with pleasure after 
Weary toils on waters deep ! 

Do not heed their shouts and laughter- 
Sleep, my little darling, sleep ! 

Off into the sea of slumbers 
Sails my darling little one, 

While I sing in peaceful numbers 
Till the dying day is done. 

While my loving arms still hold her, 
Evening shadows o'er us creep ; 

Soft her head sinks on my shoulder- 
Sleep, my little darling, sleep ! 



SUNRISE. 

While the poor stars are dying one by one, 
And light is creeping over hill and dale, 
And all the eastern clouds, saddened and 
pale, 

Blush with delight to see the laughing sun, 

Across the world my loving thoughts have 
run, 
To one who sits beneath a drooping sail, 
And sadly sees the gloomy daylight fail : 

His day is ended now, and mine begun. 

While we see wealth and happiness increase, 
Others there are whose sickly hopes fall 
dead, 



ELSIE AND OTHER POEMS. 29 

Whose honors leave them otherwhere to 

go- 
Oh, may their weary sun sink down in peace ! 
Not streaking all the sky with angry red ; 
But calmly, with a quiet afterglow. 



ELSIE ABROAD. 

My own dear child, while far away you roam, 
Beyond the restless blue Atlantic swell, 

Sweet memories still linger on at home, 

And make us love you more than we can tell. 

Thoughts of your honest eyes and soft dark hair, 
Your lips, that never say what is not meant, 

Your smile, that carries sunshine everywhere. 
Your life, so loving and so innocent. 

All these we treasure while, perhaps, far hence, 
You dream of us beneath some distant star ; 

But, lest we should forget an excellence, 

Come home and show us what you really are ! 



A BIRTHDAY PRESENT. TO AN OLD 
FRIEND. 

The loving reverence of your friends, 
. That is your greatest gift to-day ; 
Reverence that never fades away, 
. Love that begins but never ends. 

Aye, though the gorgeous sunset lends 
Its aid to make your birthday gay, 

The loving reverence of your friends, 
That is your greatest gift to-day. 

Dear friend, whatever fate God sends, 
If fortune smile, or hopes betray, 
Take this for comfort on your way : 
With every joy and sorrow blends 
The loving reverence of your friends. 



MOTHER'S LOVE. 

A mother's love, unselfish, pure, and deep, 
Prompting sweet prayers for me, that I may 

keep 
Far from all evil ; when I stumble, fall, 
And sin once more, she loves me through it 

all. 
Her smiles, her tears are mine, whiche'er I 

will ; 
I leave her home, her heart is with me still ; 
And when she sleeps, for angels cannot die, 
Her love lives on for all eternity. 



TWO VISITORS. 

Last night, as I was dreaming of my wrongs, 

I saw two figures standing by my bed ; 

Cruel Revenge, with lofty countenance 

Trying to make me think him Honor's twin ; 

The other — when I looked upon his face 

I thought that Heaven had come down to 

earth, 

And knew that sweet Forgiveness was his name. 

And now Revenge's spirit-stirring tones 

Thrilled through my senses, as he cried aloud : 

" Come, take me in, and let me dwell with thee ! 

For I can fill thee with a godlike rage, 

And give thee strength and fearlessness and 

craft, 
3 



34 ELSIE AND OTHER POEMS. 

So that no bolt nor bar can interpose 

To save him. Thou shalt pay him wrong for 

wrong ! " 
And then Forgiveness knelt beside my bed, 
Imploring me — and never have I heard 
A tone so tender or a voice so sweet, 
Clear as the holy bells of Paradise : 
" I, too, can give thee strength and fearless- 
ness, 
And innocence, more wise than wisest craft. 
Revenge can make thee hurt thine enemy ; 
But I can give thee back thy friend again. 
Oh, take me in, and let me dwell with thee ! 
Weary am I, for none will shelter me ; 
And when I kneel and beg for harborage, 
They strike me down and leave me there half 
dead. 



ELSIE AND OTHER POEMS. 35 

They do not slay me quite ; perchance they 

feel 
That they may need me on the Judgment Day." 

Sweet friend, alas ! you knew not what you 

did ; 
And I was not without some share of blame. 
Let bygones be as though they had not been ; 
Let sad-eyed Memory erase a page ; 
You are my best, my dearest friend, and I 
Forgive you — as I hope to be forgiven. 



MARY. 

Her rich dark hair flows back in waving lines, 
Leaving no shadow on that faultless brow ; 

Her face, her form, her everything combines 
To make her pure ; — I almost see her now ! 

She is a queen. No matter when or where ; 

She may be at her best or at her worst ; 
There may be hosts of other women there ; 

They may be fairer — she is still the first. 

She is not gay, but full of serious grace ; 

Seldom her mouth relents into a smile ; 
But when a light does break on that grave face, 

Dark earth seems Heaven for a little while. 



ELSIE AND OTHER POEMS. 37 

She cannot compliment her friends above 
The truth ; she has no smooth society lies ; 

She has not very many friends to love, 

But when she loves, she loves until she dies, 

She has her faults ; she can be proud and 
strange ; 

And she must have her way, whate'er befall ; 
And yet I should not like to see her change : 

I want her what she is, her faults and all. 



WHEN ELSIE SINGS. 

When Elsie sings, her notes surprise 
The angels floating through the skies ; 

And gathering round with wondering gaze, 
They marvel at these earthly lays, 
Tempting them down from Paradise. 

It calls before my half-closed eyes 
Faint and fast-fading memories 
Of old and half-forgotten days 
When Elsie sings. 

Thought after thought takes wing and flies, 
Called by those soft, strong melodies. 



ELSIE AND OTHER POEMS. 39 

She sings — and off go time and space ; 
Self is forgot ; and in its place 
Fair dreams of truth and love arise 
When Elsie sings. 



"BE YE THEREFORE PERFECT." 

The morning sun came streaming through the 

blinds, 
And lighted up" long pathways through the 

room, 
And danced and played upon the nursery wall. 
A little child was sitting up in bed, 
Reading. It was the Sermon on the Mount. 
" Perfect ? " he thought. " Why, no one has 

been that — 
Not one ; and I shall be the very first." 

And twenty years went by. The noonday sun 
Was beating down on the deserted streets. 



ELSIE AND OTHER POEMS. 4 l 

Within the church the rustling of the fans 
Seemed half to drown the preacher's droning 

voice. 
A young man sat and pondered on the text : 
" So : ' Be ye therefore perfect.' And why 

not ? " 

Arid twenty years went by. The summer sun, 
Piercing the elm-trees' lofty foliage, 
Which swayed in the soft breath of afternoon, 
Made varying patchwork on the velvet grass. 
A man was sitting with a little child, 
Reading. It was the Sermon on the Mount. 
He stopped. " * Be perfect ! ' Father, what am 

I? 
And yet, if Thou wilt grant me twenty 

years " 



42 ELSIE AND OTHER POEMS. 

And twenty years went by. The evening sun. 
With level rays came streaming through the 

blinds, 
And lighted up long pathways through the room, 
And floated up and down upon the wall 
Within what used to be the nursery. 
A man lay dying with the dying day. 
" Ah ! read me — read the Sermon on the 

Mount ! " 
His daughter read it, slowly, solemnly, 
The old man straining hard to catch each word. 
Then, falling wearily upon the bed, 
" It was so hard," he cried, " so very hard ! 
O Father, Father, and it is too late ! " 
A ray of sunlight stole across his face, 
And following the sunlight came a smile : 
" Perhaps it may be easier over there." 



MY SISTER ELEANOR. 

Her face has lost its girlish bloom ; 

Much of its red has changed to white ; 
And yet her presence in the room 

Makes God's own sunshine seem more bright 

She cannot jest, as bright folks do; 

She has no clever repartee ; 
But what she says is kind and true, 

And somehow that's enough for me. 

She has no trials ; she alone ; 

And so, lest nothing should distress her, 
She takes our troubles for her own : 

My own sweet Eleanor, God bless her ! 



TO H. B. W. 

Dear friend, to us the way seems very long 
Before we join thee in thy distant home; 
A weary way, and rough the road and steep ; 
And as we battle through this lonely world, 
We miss thy loving words of sympathy. 

To thee, a dweller in the halls of God, 
Years are unheeded, decades count for naught ; 
Yet thou hast scarcely been assigned thy place 
Ere thou art restless in thy new-found bliss ; 
Thy thoughts are with thy dear ones far away ; 
Thou lookest back across the stream of death, 
Watching for us with prayers of love and hope, 
And wondering where thy children bide so long. 



ELSIE AND OTHER POEMS. 45 

Not long, dear friend, as Heaven measures time. 
Only be patient for a little while ; 
Only a moment bow thy head in prayer ; 
Only a moment, and we follow thee. 



MUSIC. 

The pedant scorns blithe songs with tender 

words, 
And cares for naught but harmonizing chords : 
The genius feels the warm tear seek his eye 
Because he hears a mother's lullaby. 



A VENETIAN WALLFLOWER. 

Floating along a quaint Venetian street, 
An old, old woman, laid upon the shelf, 

I felt how much life's bitter mars its sweet, 
And foolishly kept thinking of myself. 

While vanquished day its sunset banner furled, 
I pondered o'er forgotten hopes and fears, 

And thought perhaps too hardly of the world, 
For patience does not always grow with 
years. 

High on the right there towered an old stone 
wall, 
Gay with a century's disregarded growth, 



48 ELSIE AND OTHER POEMS. 

Where wallflowers held their gaudy festival, 
Some red, some yellow, and some tinged with 
both. 

From out the crumbling stones, with flowers 
arrayed, 
A little window could my course command ; 
And o'er the sill smiled a Venetian maid, 

And leaned her pensive head upon her 
hand. 

Her softty lustrous hair as dark as night, 

Her features lighted by a thoughtful smile ; 
She turned her splendid eyes to left and 
right, 
And hummed an old Venetian air the 
while. 



ELSIE AND OTHER POEMS. 49 

Her brilliant cheeks and red lips just apart, 
Lit by the low sun's slowly dying flame ; 

She sat so still she seemed a work of art, 
With old gray stone and wallflowers for a 
frame. 

She saw me, and she seemed to know my 
dower 

Of grief and loneliness and selfish woe, 
And with a sudden impulse plucked a flower, 

And tossed it to me as I passed below. 

The breeze had died away. The blossom 

dropped, 

Fluttered, and wavered : it was falling wide ; 

A tiny zephyr caught it up, then stopped, 

And brought the flower directly to my side. 
4 



50 ELSIE AND OTHER POEMS. 

I feebly waved my poor old wrinkled hand ; 

Her pretty features lighted up at this : 
She said some words I could not understand. 

And laughed, and threw me down a little 
kiss. 

And then somehow this dark world grew more 
bright ; 
And I could see, with dim eyes strangely 
clear, 
How grim old Time can smile in swiftest flight, 
And sombre Fate forget to be severe. 

I love to think that you remember, too, 
Sweet girl, so far away across the sea ; 

And while I wave this grateful hand to you, 
Perhaps you throw another, kiss to me. 



TO HER WHOM I LOVE. 

Madly I struggle in the depths of night ; 

My knees are trembling and my fingers numb ; 
Stumbling and fainting in the desperate fight, 

And longing for the help that will not come. 

Ah, darling, if I might but see thy face ; 

If I could only hear thy sweet voice speak, 
Asking my help in this forsaken place ; 

If I could see the tear upon thy cheek, 

Then all this agony would pass away. 

With thee beside me could I stoop to fear ? 
I would not dread to face all hell at bay ; 

Hell would be heaven if only thou wert near. 



MOTHER. 

Yes, now I look, she has grown old — 

I never noticed till to-day : 
Her hair was once like dull red gold ; 

I can't believe it's turning gray. 

And oh, her sweet voice ! It was caught 
From some bright angel ere her birth ; 

And every time she sang, it brought 
Its native heaven down to earth. 

When I was settled for the night, 
Out of my bed I used to creep, 

And say I couldn't start just right 
Unless she sang me off to sleep. 



ELSIE AND OTHER POEMS. 53 

When angels, through the moonlight clear, 
Came floating by on snow-white wing, 

They used to stop and hover near, 
To hear my dear old mother sing. 

She had no rules, no style, no art, 
No consciousness nor manner fine : 

Her voice came straight from out her heart 
And made its way right into mine. 

Just now her voice is not so high : 
She says it's lost its old sweet tone. 

She will not sing when folks are by ; 
Only to me when we're alone. 

Then, when she breathes those old songs o'er, 
Soft to my heart of hearts they creep ; 



54 ELSIE AND OTHER POEMS. 

I'm in my little bed once more, 
And she is singing me to sleep. 

I feel no ghost can touch me here, 
No pack of wolves, nor robber band, 

While mother's song is in my ear, 
And I can hold her dear old hand. 

Dear mother, when these poets declare 
That never yet was love so true 

As with their passion to compare, 
I don't believe they know, do you ? 



AN OLD STORY. 

We are not what we were, my friend and I. 

We used to be inseparably joined, 

Like two young pine-trees growing side by side 

Whose branches are so closely interlaced 

That they are grown dependent each on each, 

And either would look marred and incomplete, 

If some rude hand should hew the other down. 

Did different interests tempt us different ways ? 

I cannot tell. Somehow we grew apart. 

And now, when we are asked if we are friends, 

We say, " Oh, yes ; " and if you press us home, 

Perhaps we say we are not what we were. 

But if you ask us how it came about, 

We shake our heads, for neither of us knows. 



THE MIRROR OF A SOUL. 

My love is like the midnight ocean yonder, 
Reflecting every star that shines above : 

No thought that into thy pure soul doth wander 
But adds another glory to my love. 



NIGHT. 

Night in her sable mantle clothes the world, 

And folds it closely to her loving breast. 
The gayly painted sunset flag is furled, 

Its last tint faded from the darkening west. 
Past is the tumult of the busy day, 

And labor's ever-fretful voice is dumb ; 
Anxieties grow dim and fade away, 

And God seems nearer now that night has 
come. 



THE MAN WHO HESITATES IS LOST, 

Slowly I muse, as I sit by the fire, 

Watching the pale embers' flittering light ; 

Watching the flames waver, lower and higher, 
Wondering whom I shall call on to-night. 

Shall it be Fanny, so happy and merry, 

Always on deck, with a smile on her face, 

Saying " You was " (ungrammatical, very), 
Pretty lips moving as though in a race ? 

How about Ellen, so sober and stately, 
Smiling a little, not laughing aloud ; 



ELSIE AND OTHER POEMS. 59 

Straight as a reed ; she's grown handsome, too, 
lately ; 
Not feeling quite at her ease in a crowd ? 

Shall it be Fanny or Ellen ? Still thinking, 
Musing I sit, rapt in revery deep : 

Slowly I nod, and my eyes begin blinking — 
Fanny — and Ellen — Adieu ! — I'm asleep ! 



MY AMBUSH. 

I have prepared an ambush for my love. 
Before she left the house to walk abroad, 
I stole before her through the dreamy woods, 
And gave my orders to my trusty friends, 
And even now they lie in wait for her. 

See how she loiters down the forest path, 
Making a perfect day more perfect still — 
No wonder that the trees are beckoning ! 
Faintly I see her dress of lightest blue, 
Appearing, disappearing, through the green — 
Anon she wanders off and out of sight. 

And now, when she is deep amongst the trees, 
Lost in the silent heaven of the woods, 



ELSIE AND OTHER POEMS. 6 1 

The viewless winds will be my messengers ; 
The busy brooks will be my advocates ; 
The idle stones, half buried in the moss, 
Will tell her stories of love's endlessness ; 
The still, sad lake, hemmed in by hostile trees, 
Will say how deep and pure is love restrained ; 
Even the silent moon will plead for me, 
Seen through the swaying summits of the trees, 
Floating all white before the sun goes down ; 
Mindful of how I love it, mindful how 
I threw it kisses when I was a child. 

Then, when I see her coming back again, 
I shall advance, and take her honest hand, 
And look into her never lying eyes, 
And ask her what the woods have said to her. 



TO ONE WHO THINKS SHE LOVES ME 
NOT. 

Eleanor, you are mine. Even when you said 

You did not love me, yet you must have known 
Of something then, now, after we are dead, 

That makes us stand together and alone. 
Slowly, resistlessly, against your will, 

Some power, some law, some destiny divine 
Is working on your heart of hearts until 

You see, as I can see, that you are mine. 

Eleanor, you are mine. I have no choice : 
It is not what I hear or what I see : 

I do not love your hair, your eyes, your voice : 
I simply feel your soul was made for me. 



ELSIE AND OTHER POEMS. 63 

I know of other women fairer far, 

And far more wise, to whom I might 
incline : 
I care not how they look or what they are, 

Whate'er they are, I know that you are mine. 

Eleanor, you are mine. Try o'er and o'er 

To break the chain that draws us every 
hour ! 
The nearer that we come, we feel it more, 

And even you must yield to such a power. 
I know, alas, that I am not above 

Others in charm ; I have no manners fine ; 
I only have a heart brimful of love ; 

Come to it, Eleanor, for you are mine. 



EXPRESS AND ACCOMMODATION. 

Splendid ! Remarkable ! Good Lord ! Why, 

bless 
My soul, but there's the Limited Express ! 
Nothing but parlor cars, I've heard them say. 
Such speed ! It fairly takes my breath away ! 
With screeching whistle, conscious of its power ; 
Heavens ! It's going sixty miles an hour ! 
It must keep up to schedule time, you see ; 
Of course it can't stop here for you and me. 

Well, here's a funny contrast ! Oh, I vow ! 
Just turn around and see what's coming now ! 
After that fast express, what a sensation 
To see this tired-out accommodation ! 



ELSIE AND OTHER POEMS. 65 

Shaky and old and marvellously plain — 
Conductors can't feel proud of such a train. 
These queer old cars — By Jove, it's slowing 

down ; 
The very thing to carry us in town ! 

Do you know Lee? Just now he's all the 

craze ; . 
His splendid books have set the town ablaze. 
His talents and his thoughts are not confined 
To any few: he works for humankind. 
And then his face, his strength, his manly 

carriage ; 
It's funny that he's never thought of marriage ! 
You've never met ? Well, meet him if you 

can ; 

You never did see such a splendid man. 

5 



66 ELSIE AND OTHER POEMS. 

A man ? A genius ] Half a deity ! 

Of course he hasn't time for folks like 

me. 
I bored him once when I was out of work : 
He couldn't help me — didn't like to shirk, 
But he was busy then — a thousand pities ! — 
Writing upon the " Unemployed in Cities." 

Rogers is just the opposite, you know ; 

He's wild to look at ; wasn't made for show ; 

And absent-minded — only got one eye — 

People are apt to smile when he goes by. 

He says himself he's rather old for use, 

And queer, without the genius's excuse. 

He does strange things ! That year that father 

died, 
And creditors would not be satisfied, 



ELSIE AND OTHER POEMS. 67 

He brought a check — wanted it -understood 
He didn't give it, but the neighborhood. 
Well, when to thank the neighborhood I went, 
I found he'd given ninety-nine per cent. 
He's strange, but then from, all that I can hear 
God's prophets always did seem sort of queer ; 
And though perhaps that Hebrew grade was 

higher, 
I'd sooner see him round than Jeremiah. 



TO AN UNNOTICED LADY. 

I did not bow when we two met 

Last evening at the Somerset : 

I turned my stupid back, nor knew 
That you were hidden from my view. 

I'm overwhelmed with deep regret. 

My heart was sad ; my feet were wet : 
I felt the need of friends, and yet 

When passing by a friend so true, 
I did not bow. 

Foolish it is for me to fret 

At what you doubtless have not let 



ELSIE AND OTHER POEMS. 69 

Be any source of grief to you. 
Perhaps I needn't feel so blue. 
May I not hope that you'll forget 
I did not bow ? 



ENGAGED. 

I am engaged. My heart no more 
On random wings of love must soar ; 
But, firmly fettered to one spot, 
It must not move a single jot. 
It's just a trifle of a bore. 

Sweet other girls whom I adore, 
I must not love you as of yore, 

For, though you are a charming lot, 
I am engaged. 

Was I not happier before 

That day I knelt upon the floor? 



ELSIE AND OTHER POEMS. J\ 

Nay, backward glances profit not : 
I've asked for one, and one I've got : 
I cannot ask for three or four ; 
I am engaged. 



WAITING. 

Wrapt in the vestibule's dim light 
I stand — these servants are so slow ! 

I wonder if she knows to-night 
That she must answer yes or no. 

I hardly think I ought to speak : 
I can't suppose she cares for me ; 

But then, those words she said last week ! 
Well, in five minutes we shall see. 

I hear a step along the floor : 
I rather wish I hadn't come ! 

Too late ! A hand is on the door : 
It opens : "Is Miss Grace at home?" 



ELSIE AND THE OCEAN. 

Here in the window-seat am I, 

The place where I most love to be, 

And sometimes put my sewing by, 

And watch my old, old friend, the Sea. 

When once I left the Sea to go 

Where through sweet vales cool rivers wind, 
I felt a ceaseless lack, as though 

My dearest friend were left behind. 

I stayed, but stayed against my will 
By lake and river, hill and glen ; 

I could not be at peace until 

I journeyed toward the Sea again. 



74 ELSIE AND OTHER POEMS. 

And when it burst upon my view, 
Beyond the peaceful plain below, 

That ever-changing reach of blue, 
I cried for joy, I loved it so ! 

The merchant packs up bale and sack, 
And trusts them to my friend the Sea : 

It bears them off upon its back, 
And brings home profits gallantly. 

Or, if it drowns "some hapless bark, 

If, rising 'neath the wind's fierce breath. 

And hooded by the storm-clouds dark, 
It flings the sailors to their death, 

Then it laments its sad success, 
When hungry waves are satisfied, 



ELSIE AND OTHER POEMS. 75 

Regrets its angry heartlessness, 

And grandly mourns for those that died. 

Dear Ocean, sorrow without end 

Is in your mighty soul confined : 
Will you not tell your little friend ? 

Who knows but it might ease your mind ? 

The gloomy Ocean does not say ; 

It will not stop to talk with me ; 
But murmurs softly all the day. 

I wonder what its grief can be ! 



AFTER THE FIRST SNOW. 

The sullen world of dust and dirt and stone 

Is brightened by the snowstorm's simple art, 
Like one that's dead, whose very faults are 
strewn 
With pure, pure love from out a mother's 
heart. 



A RESOLUTION. 

I am a coward : nothing is so weak, 

So beggarly, or so contemptible 

But I have feared it ; aye, and fear it yet, 

When Memory lays her shadowy colors on, 

And madly paints it in heroic size. 

The salt of fear has tainted Life's repast, 

And not one sweetmeat can taste sweet to 

me : 
The mist of fear has dimmed Life's spec- 
tacles, 
And how can I distinguish right from wrong? 
The wall of fear has compassed me around, 
And Honor waits for me and waits in vain. 



78 ELSIE AND OTHER POEMS. 

Oh, I am sick to death of bitter fear ! 

By all that breathes, I will not fear again ! 

Devil or man, I will not fear again ! 

Though Satan's self and all the powers of Hell 

Come storming round me till the air is black, 

By Heaven I will not yield one foot of ground ! 

Though all the world call curses on my head, 

And every curse be bitterly deserved, 

I fear not curse nor hate nor right nor wrong ! 

Much have I sinned, and I shall sin again : 
I shall deceive and lie and think base thoughts 
And do base deeds and slander righteous men ; 
But as there is a God in Heaven above, 
And as there is an earth and sea and sky, 
I will not fear : I will not be afraid : 
Though I should die, I will not fear again ! 



PHILLIPS BROOKS. 

Once, when my soul was dull and closed and 
grim, 
And I was tired of stern Life's endless 

fray, 
I met that man who died the other 
day, 
And, as he spoke, I felt through every limb 
He was my master. From the horizon dim 
Bidding me come, and pointing out the 

way, 
His spirit called : my spirit must obey. 
You must be noble while you are with 
him. 



80 ELSIE AND OTHER POEMS. 

As some poor wretch from fortune's lowest 
lurch, 
Limping with downcast eyes through scorn- 
ful crowds, 
Watching the gutter water ripple by, 
Comes suddenly upon a stately church 

With lofty spire pointing toward the clouds, 
And finds that he is gazing at the sky. 



A CLERK IN A BANK. 

Months loiter past and long years die away 
While he divides, subtracts, and multiplies, 
Or looks about to rest his patient eyes : 

For sixteen years he has not missed a day. 

Oh what a blank monotony is his ! 

How can he bear to copy page on page, 
While yesterday seems like some bygone age, 

And hours go creeping past like centuries ! 

And yet, tired as he is, I envy him ; 

Although each day is like the next and last, 

Although he has no present and no past, 

Though brain is stupefied and eyes are dim. 
6 



82 ELSIE AND OTHER POEMS. 

For he who does his duty is divine ; 

And this man does it quietly each day ; 

His work is perfect in its humble way ; 
And I — I cannot say the same of mine. 



MY FELLOW-TRAVELLER. 

I know a man ; and know him to my 

cost ; 
God never manufactured such a man : 
A crafty, foul-mouthed, lying hypocrite, 
Whose washed-out virtues make you hate him 

more. 
I pass him ; and I quickly shut my eyes 
As if I passed some vile deformity. 
I pass him ; and I haste to hold my 

breath 
As if I passed some rotting carrion. 
I cannot think of him without a curse. 
I hate him, and I wish he was in Hell. 



84 ELSIE AND OTHER POEMS. 

Such were my thoughts, when, spent with angry 

toil, 
I flung myself upon my midnight bed, 
And wished that sleep might never have an 

end. 
But other feelings came when in the East 
The pale gray clouds had changed to burning 

gold, 
And, little messengers from God to man, 
Light-hearted sunbeams burst into the room, 
And made my eastern window look like 

Heaven. 

I hate him ? Who am I that I should hate ? 
What have I done to raise me up so high 
As to pass sentence on my fellow-men ? 
I never had a doubt that God loved me. 



ELSIE AND OTHER POEMS. §5 

How arrogant of me to hate this man 
Ten million times more near to equal me 
Than I can ever come to equal God ! 

We must look much the same to one like 

God: 
Two disobedient weaklings, who prefer 
To feebly quarrel and disdain and hate 
Than to clasp hands and stand up side by side, 
And recognize that we in one respect 
Can be like God, that even we can love. 

How can I dare to hate my fellow-man, 
And all the while expect his Father, God, 
To make no difference in His love for nie, 
When I have wished one of His sons in Hell ? 
Suppose that God should take to hating me ! 



86 ELSIE AND OTHER POEMS. 

No, no ! I cannot bear it ! — This poor man 
Is my co-traveller on life's miry track. 
Mayhap he stumbles even more than I : 
In faith he has a somewhat muddy coat ; 
But I, God's love, am nothing over-clean. 

I hardly care to touch him. — Yet I hope 
That God will never cease from touching me. 

Here, Brother, Fellow-Traveller, here's my arm I 
Come, lean upon it. I am none too strong, 
But better thus than grovelling in the mud. 
Tread softly here ; beware yon precipice ! 
So ! Lean on me f 

By Heaven, I should have fallen 
But for that saving wrench from your true ,arm ! 



ELSIE AND OTHER POEMS. 87 

We seem to travel faster than we did. 

Something has given me a stouter heart. 

This warm, fresh current stealing through my 

veins : 
What is this dawning feeling ? Is it Love ? 



ELSIE'S FATHER. 

My father — it's no use to fret, 

But soon my patience will be spent ! 

He's such a splendid man, and yet 
They've never made him president. 

Jack and I differed some time back 
About the strongest man, or, rather, 

The greatest fighter living : Jack 
Said Hercules ; but I said Father. 

As soon as war had well begun, 

He went to fight, away down South. 

I think it must be horrid fun 

To charge into a cannon's mouth ! 



ELSIE AND OTHER POEMS. o 

But he has such a noble air 
That folks are eager to obey : 

I think I'd go most anywhere, 

If he was there to lead the way. 

I told him so the other day. 

He said, if Elsie with her gun 
And cannon burst into the fray, 

He thought the enemy would run. 

Mother is nice, with lots to spare ; 

But so is he ; and he has such 
A way of smoothing down your hair, 

He seems to like you awfully much ! 

He's Mother's sweetheart, true and bold, 
He was mine too — a great while since- 



90 ELSIE AND OTHER POEMS. 

But — I don't know — he's sort of old 
And bald to be a Fairy Prince. 

Now, Mother, Father's poem is done. 
I'll only add this postscript : 

He is 
Nicest of all except just one, 

And just about as nice as she is. 



SUNSET ACROSS THE ICE. 

Across the heaven of the setting sun 
A figure passes with a smile and nod, 

As some dark vision through a prayer might 
run, 
And tempt the foolish soul away from God. 



TO MARGARET. 

If I wanted a regular heroine 

Who wandered about in shady dells, 
And pined until she was terribly thin, 

I'd probably go to somebody else : 
If I wanted a soul as open as day, 

Whose feelings I couldn't misconstrue, 
Whose friendship was more in the " do " than 
the "say," 

There isn't a doubt but I'd come to you. 

If I wanted a creature without an opinion, 
And never a thought in her cerebral cells, 

With an amiable smile and an accent Virginian, 
I'd probably go to somebody else : 



ELSIE AND OTHER POEMS. 93 

If I wanted some one more solid than such, 
Whose critical dictums were far from 
few, 

Who'd tell me my faults — a trifle too much, 
There isn't a doubt but I'd come to you. 

If I wanted a girl who was always pleased, 

Whose glances were sweet as caramels, 
Who'd pity me every time I sneezed, 
I'd probably go to somebody else : 
If I wanted a person of sense and nerve, 
Who'd sympathize somewhat as stern par- 
ents do, 
Not a particle more than I seemed to de- 
serve, 
There isn't a doubt but I'd come to 
you. 



94 ELSIE AND OTHER POEMS. 

ENVOY. 

My dear, if I wanted one of the belles, 
I'd probably go to somebody else : 
If I wanted a friend, and the best I knew 
There isn't a doubt but I'd come to you. 



THE YOUNG MOTHER. 

Only two years since that September day 
When Phil and I. with hearts like buds in 

spring, 
Came wandering down the avenue of elms, 
Full of each other's presence, half alarmed, 
Silent, or else not knowing what we said, 
Quick with the sense that something was at 

hand, 
Dreading to look each other in the face, 
In Heaven because we felt each other 

near, 
Loving and loved, and Phil afraid to speak 
Because he feared my answer, foolish boy ! 



96 ELSIE AND OTHER POEMS. 

I am so glad we named the baby Phil, 

For now, when Phil has left me for the day, 

I can tell all my thoughts to little Phil, 

His father's stalwart representative, 

As if he were his father ; and he smiles, 

And laughs, and sometimes screams from sym 

pathy ; 
Or else I sing to him. And so we make 
The time seem short till Phil comes home 

again. 

What, darling ! Are your little eyes awake ? 
For shame ! They know they ought to be 

asleep ! 
Come, dearest, leave that sleepless little crib, 
And rest within your foolish mother's arms. 
Listen ! 



ELSIE AND OTHER POEMS. 97 

What shall my little darling be ? 

Perhaps with conquering flag unfurled 
From victory to victory 

He'll lead great armies round the world. 
But do not hate the foe, my dear, 

Nor frown as you are frowning now : 
I will not tell you not to fear : 

I think Phil's son would not know how. 

What shall my little darling be ? 

Perhaps along some hostile shore, 
With saucy pennant floating free, 

He'll sail a stately man-of-war. 
Then, dearest, when the shells fly fast, 

Never give in to fortune's frown ; 

But nail your colors to the mast 

And fight until one ship goes down. 
7 



ELSIE AND OTHER POEMS. 

What shall my little darling be ? 

Perhaps with firm controlling hand 
He'll guide our country's destiny, 

The greatest statesman of the land. 
Oh, dearest, do not think alone 

What is your country's interest then 
But guard her honor like your own : 

Nations have souls as well as men. 



What shall my little darling be ? 

Perhaps, inspired by passion deep, 
And — what a piece of villany ! 

I do believe he's fast asleep ! 

A human soul ! A living, breathing man ! 
And how am I, an idle scatterbrain, 



ELSIE AND OTHER POEMS. 99 

To guide him right, along life's labyrinth ? 
Poor me ! I do not know a single turn ! 
"What shall my little darling be?" indeed! 
Statesman, or sailor bold, or general ? 
I only hope he proves an honest man. 
Why, the idea ! A foolish child like me 
To be a mother ! 

I should like to know 
How much there is in this heredity. 
He has my nose : has he my character ? 
I cannot bear to think of all my faults 
Crouching around this harmless sleeping 

child 
Like grinning tigers just before they spring. 
Can he not have his father's qualities ? 
His noble manliness, his love of truth, 



100 ELSIE AND OTHER POEMS. 

With just a little silliness from me, 
To smooth his passage through this stormy 
world ? 

In those old days before we were engaged, 
I used to think that I was fond of Phil ; 
But that thin rivulet of calm regard 
Was nothing to this moving sea of love, 
Swallowing me up. You might as well com- 
pare 
The Mississippi River and the Charles. 

That life of old was like a pleasant dream, 
Real enough while I was dreaming it ; 
But faded now, like distant scenery 
When the regretful eyes are full of tears. 
I scarcely think of those I left at home. 



ELSIE AND OTHER POEMS. 101 

I have not thought of Father all to-day ! 
My love flows deep : alas, I sometimes fear 
It narrows as it deepens. Oh, I think 
My spirit is too small ! Like Phil's new barn, 
When last year's harvest proved too plenteous: 

It will not hold the love I want to feel. 

/ 

What, my own dearest, waking up again ? 



A PLAIN WORKING MAN'S IDEA OF 
HEAVEN. 

"We know we are not worthy of Thy love: 
We know, we know, we have not done our 
best : 
But when Thou takest us to Thee above, 
Rest, rest, dear Father, only give us rest ! " 

Such is the song they sing : I cannot bear it ! 
All men must sin ; but no man needs to 
shirk : 
Show me some noble task and let me share it ! 
Work, work, dear Father, only give me 
work ! 



ELSIE AND OTHER POEMS. I03 

Our thoughts of Heaven are surely wondrous 
odd. 

Just sitting still and praising God all day : 
That would be hard indeed ; for praising God 

Is more in what you do than what you say. 

Poor weary weaklings! Are we then so tired? 

Just fit to blow gold trumpets and feel 
blest ? 
To sit and smile and dream and be inspired ? 

Can one life's work win everlasting rest? 

Oh shame! Shall I give up my high endeavor? 

Shall I pretend my store of strength is 
gone ? 
Shall I claim peace and joy and bliss forever, 

And take my rest while God goes toiling on ? 



104 ELSIE AND OTHER POEMS. 

Father, what future's mine I cannot tell ; 

But when I have begun my life anew, 
I care not where, in Heaven, or Earth, or Hell, 

O Father, give me some hard work to do ! 

Forward along the road that He has given ! 
We cannot stay to count what strength we 
spend, 
Nor stop for rest in any idle Heaven, 

For God's own work shall never have an 
end ! 



